Like One of the Family (25 page)

Jane thought the girl was looking paler than usual and noticed how often she rubbed her eyes when reading to Ruthie.

‘Have you a headache, Claire?' she asked her at last.

‘A bit of a one,' Claire admitted. She had a pain over her left eye and felt a little sick. Sometimes there was a shimmer before her eyes and when she tried to read a line, part of it seemed to be missing.

‘Mmm. Sounds like migraine,' Jane diagnosed. ‘I'll give you something for it.' Then she remembered that it wasn't her place to treat Claire without her mother's knowledge. ‘If it doesn't get any better,' she amended.

It got worse. One day in class Claire was unable to make out the figures on the blackboard. Her head ached from the effort of trying to read the maths teacher's squiggley writing. The next class was English, usually her best subject. She found she couldn't make sense of Macduff's speech. Birthdoms? Foisons? Each word seemed coded with no cipher. When she stood up to recite, she heard her voice echoing in her head as if it belonged to someone else. It was a terrible effort trying to explain to Sister Whelan what was wrong with her. The words came out all funny. She flushed and was silent.

Jane felt it was time to have a chat with Annette.

‘Migraine?' Annette said. ‘Oh, is that all? I thought it was something serious.'

‘It is serious.' Jane sighed and averted her eyes from the overcrowded clothes horse, on which a man's outsize black and gold silk underpants hung, partially obscured by a white lace bra. ‘Claire's studies could be affected.'

Annette wasn't listening. ‘Tea okay for you?' she asked, and not waiting for an answer, swiftly dunked a teabag between mugs.

Jane left hers untouched. Surely Annette realised that her daughter was doing a very important exam in less than two months and, if she didn't do really well, had no chance of getting into any decent third-level educational course?

‘Look Annette,' she said, suppressing her annoyance, ‘There's a safe, effective tablet for migraine. What I'm suggesting is putting Claire on it for a month and see how she goes.'

‘That's fine with me,' Annette said.

‘One other thing. An important factor with migraine is diet. I can give you a list of the right foods but it's equally important for Claire to avoid long gaps between meals.'

Annette sighed. ‘It's not that simple, Jane. I'm out all day and so is she.'

‘I understand that,' Jane said patiently. ‘Just so long as she gets it when she comes home.' She began jotting down the kind of nutrition she was talking about.

Annette nodded obediently. Jane wondered how much, if any, of her advice would be followed.

The daily tablet had the desired effect. Claire had no more migraine attacks and was able to take the long hours of study in her stride.

The Mocks turned out to be tougher than anyone expected. Even the brightest girls in the class looked doubtful when they congregated outside the exam room to compare notes, sighing and clutching their foreheads. Poisonous and lethal were the adjectives used. Claire was in despair over the English paper. She had been fairly confident, she told Imelda, until she saw the literature section. Question after question on
Saint Joan
which she had barely covered. She had been really counting on Friel's
‘Philadephia, Here I Come!'
She easily identified with Gar's pain over his father's inability to express affection .

With the Mocks behind her Claire felt able to accept her father's invitation for the weekend, if he didn't mind her bringing her school-books with her. Her father said that was fine with him though maybe a complete break would do her good. Anyway, he left it up to her.

Marissa's baby - for that's how Claire had come to think of him - was almost three months old. David was tiny, with beautiful grey eyes and a silky thatch of dusky hair. Claire could not decide who he looked like, but he had her father's eyes which, of course, were hers too.

Claire was fascinated by the sight of her tiny half-brother clinging limpet-like to the mountainous Marissa. Before marriage she had not appeared overly stout but now she was a solid mass of flesh, with none of the expected ins-and-outs. She was still wearing tent dresses. She was philosophical about her lost figure though and sometimes said with a laugh, ‘Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt,' displaying an unexpected sense of humour, as well as her learning. When she put David into Claire's arms, Claire loved the sensation of the baby's dewy skin against her, although she was terrified of dropping him.

Her father smilingly watched them as he turned eggs in the pan, cheerfully calling Marissa and herself ‘his girls'. He had opened a bottle of wine in honour of Claire's visit, although in reality the wine was for Marissa. Jim touched very little drink himself. He didn't need it, Claire thought. He had Marissa.

Claire sometimes pondered on Marissa's attraction for her father. She was so much plainer than Annette, yet her father obviously loved her. Claire came to the conclusion that Marissa might be without physical beauty but she was straightforward and undemanding. On the other hand, Annette was ambitious, devious and capricious. Marissa probably never thought of her work except as a job. Jim obviously found this restful. Claire could understand why. At the same time, Annette was clever and even witty. Marissa would never stand up in front of a class full of sixth year girls, challenging their preconceptions, or blatantly discussing the perils of unprotected sex. Not Marissa. And that's what her father liked about her.

Claire did not open her books in the end. The atmosphere in the tiny flat was not conducive to study. Apart from a brief walk with her father along the seafront on Saturday evening she never left the flat.

When she went home Annette did not ask her about her weekend. Anyway, she had other matters on her mind. Thomas had decided to reunite with his wife and had left suddenly, without paying his rent. Annette regretted not getting the money in advance and swore she wouldn't be so foolish again. She said that everyone thought she was a soft touch. Well, she was going to toughen up. And about time!

Her mother was on her third whisky by the time Claire said goodnight and climbed the stairs to bed. She could not help contrasting the two households, the one she had just left, which had been all laughter and love, and the one she had returned to, full of bitterness and recrimination.

She got out her books to give them a quick glance over before school next day and was all at once struck by how quiet the house was. No stereo blasting out Chris De Burgh or Billy Joel. She felt overwhelming relief that their lodger was gone.

Exam fever mounted. Claire kept wishing it was all over, that she had done a brilliant exam and got more points than anyone else in her class. Jane laughed when she said this. and Claire had to smile herself. Not that she needed all that many points to do an arts degree, but it was what she wanted to do. The only thing she hadn't decided on was her subject. English or history? Naturally Annette felt English would be best and Jane agreed with her. At the same time, Claire's best mark in her Mocks had been for history. It was all very confusing.

Jane laughed and got up to pour more coffee. Sheena was displaying the McArdle talent for portraiture and had been awarded a scholarship to the Art College. Jane sounded a little sad when she said this, perhaps thinking of Hugh.

Jane said that the letter had arrived from the Art College over a week ago but she still hadn't told Sheena. If she knew, Sheena wouldn't do another tap. Anyway, she asked Claire to keep the secret. Claire felt glad for Sheena, but a bit envious too. It must be great to have your career all decided.

A few days later Claire bumped into Terry as she was going into Sheena's bedroom, and learned he was practically fixed up too.

‘Heard the latest, Claire? I'm going to be a pilot.'

‘Since when?' Claire asked.

‘Ages. Right, Sheena?' Terry turned to his twin who nodded.

‘You never said anything before,' Claire pointed out as she perched on a stool.

‘Nothing to say until I get my okay from the Air Corps,' Terry said cheerfully. ‘But I've done a few good interviews and now it depends on my Leaving results.'

‘He has to pass Irish,' Sheena said, making a comical face at Claire, who grinned in sympathy. It was Terry's worst subject.

‘I think I can just about scrape through if I work my head off,' Terry admitted. ‘I only wish I'd started earlier.'

‘Me too,' Sheena admitted. She cast a hopeless look at the book in front of her.

Claire thought it seemed a shame not to tell her about the scholarship. Still, she supposed Jane knew what she was doing. Terry ripped a page from Sheena's rough copy and began folding it to make a paper plane.

‘So long as my height isn't against me,' he worried. ‘Might be if I opted to become a fighter pilot.'

Claire had thought height would be an advantage.

‘Are you sure?' she asked.

Terry nodded. ‘You could get tangled up with the instrument panel when ejecting, and leave your knee-caps behind.' He grinned at her dismayed expression.

‘Yuck!' Sheena said. She had given up trying to study and was making herself a paper plane. ‘Not like that.' Terry refashioned it and dive-bombed it back at her.

Claire absently watched them. He would make a very dashing pilot, she thought wistfully
.

Claire knew from Sheena that Terry was using his charm overtime on the clinic assistants on the nights he called to drive Jane home. Grainne, the busty dark-haired one, was mad about him, Sheena said, but whether Terry had actually gone out with her, she didn't know. Grainne was at least twenty-three, Sheena said. Claire wondered if she realised just how young Terry was but Sheena said, probably not. He looked older than eighteen. Acted older!

This was true. Claire blushed when she thought of herself and Terry doing very adult things. She felt like a voyeur spying on two strangers. To think the pair of them had been like that! She had relived these moments in her dreams many times, in different guises, and thought that even if Terry had forgotten, she never would.

Terry hadn't forgotten, but when he looked at Claire, sitting there so cool and seemingly unaware of him, he found it almost impossible to believe they had ever been so intimate, although the mere memory of it brought him out in a sweat. He thought that if he lived to be ninety he would never forget the sensuous feel of her, the sweet response to his love-making, her near surrender. He wondered if he would ever get another chance with her and swore to himself that if he were so lucky, he wouldn't mess it up next time.

Claire and Sheena were making plans to mark their last day at school. ‘Some of the class want to bring in eggs and flour and mount an arsenal near the teachers' common room,' Claire was saying.

‘Sounds feeble.' Sheena grimaced. ‘Can't anyone think of anything better?'

‘Only to Vaseline the blackboards and put glue on the teachers' chairs.'

‘Big deal,' Sheena sighed.

‘We have a great gag planned,' Terry said, and they turned to look at him. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it in their faces. He laughed provocatively. ‘Wouldn't you like to know what it is?'

‘Come on, Claire,' Sheena cried, jumping up. ‘We won't let him out till we get it.' She dived on her twin and tackled him about the knees. Terry laughed and easily bowled her back. Sheena ran at him again, breathlessly exhorting Claire to come and help her.

Claire hesitated, watching as Terry easily held Sheena off, his eyes alight with laughter, white teeth flashing against the tan of his face. He's so attractive and sure of himself, she thought. If only I could get him out of my mind.

She met his smiling gaze over Sheena's madly bobbing head and felt her face suddenly grow warm as the amused expression faded from his tawny eyes and was replaced by the intent look she remembered so well from the summer. They stared wordlessly at each other across the room.

‘I've got it.' Sheena fell back triumphantly clutching the paper, pleased at her easy victory. ‘Now we'll see what the great gag is.' She scanned it eagerly and her face fell. ‘Well honestly! It's nothing but an old bus timetable'

The other two were aware only of each other and did not hear her.

Terry really did have a great gag planned.

The night before their school-days ended he and three others from his class returned to the school, dressed in black jeans and Balaclavas. They carried walkie-talkies and a rolled-up canvas flag, painted with the skull and crossbones. Their intention was to rig it up on the clock tower, a building that was strictly out of bounds to the boys and requiring skill and nerve to scale. They successfully rigged it so that next morning, just before the eleven o'clock break, they had only to climb on to the school roof and pull a cord they had left conveniently dangling and a sinister-looking Jolly Roger flapped into view as if by magic. The juniors went crazy, dancing and pointing. The masters, hearing all the commotion, came dashing out to investigate. A search of the tower discovered nobody inside or out, nothing but the gently flapping flag. When the furore had died down and the flag been removed, the masters admitted that it was a pretty good rag.

‘As a matter of fact the best in years,' Terry informed his family that evening with a satisfied grin.

‘I wish I'd been there to see it,' Ruthie said wistfully.

‘Me too,' Claire agreed, smiling at her, thinking that Ruthie looked so much like her old self since her hair had grown again. She was touched when the little girl came and rested her arm along her shoulders in the old fond manner.

Sheena frowned. ‘As usual, the boys have all the fun.'

‘Oh now, sour grapes,' Jane chided with a laugh

‘So how did you make out?' Terry asked the girls.